Definition of Insanity
by blackbeltchic
Summary: Buffy used to have a needle problem she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Definition of Insanity  
**Author:** Karen  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.  
**Rating**: M for adult themes and drugs.  
**Genres**: Angst and eventually romance  
**Summary**: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.  
**Author's Notes:** This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.  
And sorry about the messed up swears. I first posted this at a message board, then copied it from there...I didn't realize they censored it! Thanks to Queen Boadicea, I'm on to their little game...  
**Warnings**: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.  
**Feedback**: A must.

I used to have a serious needle problem. More like a phobia. Unable to watch people on TV get a shot bad. But then Ethan took the liberty of giving me my first tattoo. Now, slayers have a high tolerance for pain, but even with that, when I went to get it removed, I knew I had two choices; grit it out and break the guy's nose, or anesthesia.

Then during our little affair, Spike turned me on to some of the less-bad drugs. Didn't truly help with the needle problem, but oh well. I quit when I ended it, but sometimes in the coming months, I missed that feeling.

Then a few things happened. The First; Willow's spell; the destruction of Sunnydale, and with it, my purpose for living; Dawn graduated, grew up. Maybe I have an addictive personality, or maybe I never got over being left. I turned back to drugs after we fled Southern California, and the world as I knew it. But I was more hardened this time around. It took more to give me that buzz. I tried going back to the drugs Spike had me try, cocaine, marijuana, even ecstasy once or twice, but it didn't work. It wasn't enough. It didn't make me forget.

I still have a needle problem, but it's totally different now. As soon as that needle pricks my skin, I anticipate what's coming next. The thought of something shoving something into my veins, meddling with my blood, no longer bothers me. And when I feel the burning, I crave the oblivion I know is coming. And then the world goes away. Those five seconds are the longest in my life.

On the outside, I'm still the Buffy Summers my friends think they know. The Council had to be rebuilt, and I helped. The new slayers needed training, and I helped. But the purpose for living that I had on the hellmouth, the one that kept me going after coming back from Heaven, that was gone, and I didn't know how to get it back. My other reason for living had left me on the day of my graduation, so I was living a half-life, shooting things into my vein just to get by.

Being a slayer has some advantages. Even though it's a hardcore drug that people die from every day, I still consider myself a recreational user. I can go all day without getting high or even going through withdrawal even after using for over a year, but when the sun sets, and the heat goes with it, I turn to needles to take the pain away. It's my choice to shoot up, I don't need it, my body doesn't crave it. My mind craves it to take the pain away, my heart needs it to live through the nights without him. And my slayer healing takes care of the track marks, though my skin's gotten harder, and it takes longer for them to heal now. But being a slayer has some disadvantages too; it takes a lot to get me to the point of forgetting. It takes a whole hell of a lot. And it doesn't last as long as it should. Sometimes, I have to do it twice just to get through the short night.

I'm careful. I went to DARE classes and all that. I sterilize the needles I use, and I never share. I never even shoot up when anyone's around. I also have a deal with my supplier. He's the big cheese in the city, and he doesn't deal directly with anyone but me; but that's because I killed the first three dealers I met-they were demons, so it's okay; killing demons is my job. He imports it, and gives me a cut off the top, makes sure it's not polluted or anything, and he gets to live. I also turn my back on some of his other dealings, and don't turn him in to the cops or the Council. And sometimes, if he's having demon-related problems, I lend a hand in my free time. He beat out all the other drug guys in town-I guess it helps having a slayer in your pocket.

I guess my day life is going pretty well- we haven't lost that many girls since we instituted a new training program. My friends are all still alive, and Dawn's going to be a watcher. Willow ran into Oz a few months ago while looking for a slayer, so they're back together. Xander's still moping after Anya, but he's living more than he used to. He invites me out to dinner a couple times a week, or to go to a club or something, but I always decline. Because when I'm with them, I have to pretend that I'm happy and having fun. I still suffer, but I have to hide it, and it festers. When I'm by myself, the pain comes in like the tide, and my heart drags me down like undertow, and I get swept out to sea if I can't get the needle ready fast enough. Generally I patrol for a few hours each night, just to take the edge off, and then I go home and lock my door.

The fact that heroin is a depressant is kind of ironic if you really think about it, I have no problem with being depressed. It's kind of my natural state nowadays.

My night life, however- the life I live when there's no one around- is the pits. Hence the drugs. When the sun goes down, that's when I allow myself to remember. Remember the normal life I'm supposed to be living. I wonder if this is what he meant. It's certainly not the picket fence and 2.5 kids and the chocolate lab. But that's all I'll let myself think about that too much, because if I start thinking about what he would do if he knew…there's no guarantee that he would take me back. My heart still thinks that he loves me, and that he'd take me back no matter what. But my brain's more cynical. My brain thinks that if he saw what I've become in his absence, he'd be ashamed for me, he'd be disgusted, and he'd turn on me.

My brain and my heart don't talk to each other anymore. They haven't since he left. It makes things easier, like my affair with Spike. That was easy because my heart just locked itself in its room and refused to come out. My brain and my body were what opened up to Spike, but never my heart, not the way he wanted it to.

Like I said, I have a needle problem, but not a drug problem. At least I didn't have a problem until two nights ago.

It all started with the monthly meeting. No big deal, I sit through one every month, and just because it happens to coincide with that time of the month doesn't mean it was anything to get stressed about. I'm a bit more irritated, and though we're not supposed to have food, I keep a stash of Hershey Dark Chocolate kisses in my purse and sneak them when I think no ones looking.

But something was definitely wrong.

I was more irritated than usual, think I already mentioned that. Okay, we had just lost a girl. And I wasn't exactly getting as much sleep as I usually did; insomnia's a bitch. And my supplier had been strangely absent after I killed this big nasty for him. Not happy about that. I had enough to keep me going for awhile, as long as the dreams didn't get really ugly. But it was something different, something more. I wasn't even sure it was a bad wrong thing. It could have been a good wrong thing. I couldn't shake whatever it was.

Guess who showed up in my office the next day, earlier today. Him. That's right, you know who I'm talking about. There's only ever been one Him in my entire life, and I'm not talking about God. I would have been less freaked out by God showing up in the middle of a bright, sunny day than I was when he showed up. It wasn't so much that he showed up, because he tends to make random appearances every few years, and I guess it was time for him to make another one. No, it was the time he showed up. Generally he shows up at night, and generally in a cemetery. This was in the middle of the day- I had just finished reaching for the salad I had brought from my mini-fridge, more than ready to enjoy it at my desk- when he walked in. And the curtains were wide open, the window was wide open! And he just walks in.

And okay, yeah, it took me a couple seconds to notice he wasn't exactly bursting into flame. And that's when I realized what was wrong. I guess the medical term would be like a ghost heartbeat or something. All I know, here in my breast, just to the side of my own heart, I feel this pattering, this beating. I didn't notice it until he walked in, even though it was beating rather erratically, but then my heart accelerated to match it, and that's when I noticed it. When it wasn't there anymore.

So here I am, sitting at my desk, a forkful of lettuce and spinach and a sliver of carrot halfway to my mouth, when he walks in. And it was just like I shot up, because the world disappeared, and he was the only thing I saw. It felt the same too, the sudden euphoria (another irony, considering it's a depressant), and my arms felt heavy, and yet I felt light. I dropped my fork, but I don't think either of us noticed, because I was staring at him, standing in the SUN! and he was standing there staring at me in the sunlight, with the window blowing the wisps of hair that had escaped my tight bun. I wish I had known he was showing up, because I wouldn't have gone for the unisex schoolteacher look, I would have at least done something different with my hair…

And I know that sounds all superficial and all that, and even I was a bit surprised by the thought, but the man of your life walks back into it, and you don't wish you looked less like uberbitch nazi teacher and a little more sexy?

Anyway, I guess he was just as shocked by the changes in me as I was by the changes in him. Not that the changes in me are nearly as huge- so I'm thinner…a lot thinner. If you wanted to be mean about it, you'd maybe even say gaunt. There was a lot more muscle on my frame. There's no softness anymore. What little breasts I had are long gone; all the fat's gone, all of the things that made me soft and feminine are gone, except for this damned period that for the life of me, I can't get to go away. Not like I want to reproduce with anyone but him, and until this very moment, that was impossible. Hell, it might still be. The hollows of my eyes were more pronounced- hell, all the hollows in me were more pronounced- and there were dark purple smudges under my eyes from a combination of insomnia, my once-weekly patrol-till-dawn fests, and the nights when even the drugs didn't stop the dreams and I force myself to stay awake until the sun rises again.

But hello, he's human! The one thing I've wished for for like a decade finally happens. And we just stand there, staring at each other. But it was worse when he opened his mouth to speak.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked. No welcome, no sorry for barging in on me, what if I had a slayer in here with me, and we were conferencing? Not even my fucking name that he says like it's chocolate, pure pleasure to have in his mouth. No.

"Do you want the short list or the long one?" I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm. "It's gonna have to be the short one, because I don't have that much time."

He just looked at me, a bit lost. I almost laughed if his expression didn't cut me to the bone. He just keeps staring, and I can't take it anymore.

"I've got a conference in ten, so could we just get on with whatever the hell this is?" I asked, twirling in my chair, as if his presence didn't affect me as it did.

"Buffy…" he trailed off, maybe not being able to see my expression bothered him, but it didn't bother me, I was glad he couldn't see the look of pure joy at the way he said my name. He still said it like a prayer, with the tiniest bit of a question at the end, as if he was questioning himself if I were real. I was glad the large chair back hid me from view, because I shivered in the suddenly overheated room. "I'm human," he continued, as if he had practiced what he was going to say to me and then the words had left him, and he didn't know quite how to say what he wanted to say.

"I noticed," I snapped, turning back to him, "The whole not bursting into flames was a dead give away, Angel." I forced myself to not return any emotion when I said his name. I made sure my voice was flat, cold, maybe even frigid.

"Buffy…" he started, but I didn't give him a chance. Suddenly, all the anger I had ever had for the thing standing before me burst forth, burning me. I couldn't keep it in check.

"Don't. Just don't. Don't think you can come in here after all these years and be hurt that I don't welcome you with open arms. You left me, Angel. Not just once, but so many times I can't even being to count. And not just in real life, but in my dreams, Angel," I was pissed that I let that tidbit slip. I didn't want him knowing that on the nights the drugs didn't blow the world out from under me, I dreamed of him. I dreamed of him coming to me, like this, human, only I'm more like I used to be, not such a bitch, and we're still in love and we get back together. And that's where the dreams branch off. Sometimes we have kids, sometimes we get married, and sometimes we just fuck ourselves silly. But if I don't wake myself up in time, they always end the same.

"That's right. Your leaving me scarred me more than on the surface. And every time I take you back, expecting this time to be different. But it's not, it never is. You always leave me, no matter how many times I take you back, and how much I plead and cry and beg!" I was standing now, my anger fueling me on; I knew that if I didn't hold on to my anger, I would break, and I would cry. I had promised myself long ago that I would never cry in front of someone ever again.

"Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Angel? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Benjamin Franklin said that. I'm sick and tired of doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results, because it's always going to be the same damn thing. I'm tired of it!" Through my little speech, my anger drained from me, leaving me physically tired. Looking into his unfathomable eyes made me emotionally and mentally tired. I was just plain tired, and I wanted it all to end.

"Fine," he said, his voice quiet, all emotion gone. I forgot that he had long ago learned control over his emotions. While he stood there, calm, cool, strong, I felt like my knees were jelly. While no emotion showed on his countenance, I knew if he didn't leave, I was going to start crying, no matter how I vehemently I swore I wouldn't. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the smarting in my eyes. "If that's what you want…"

"It is," I told him, my voice surprisingly calm, strong. No quiver I was so afraid of.

He nodded once, before he turned without a word and left. I watched his back grow smaller as he walked down the hall. I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry out to him to stop, to come back. No. I had moved on. I didn't need him.

I needed to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

Definition of Insanity  
Part Two  
by Karen

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.  
**Rating**: R for adult themes and drugs.  
**Genres**: Angst and eventually romance  
**Summary**: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.  
**Author's Notes:** This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.  
**Warnings**: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.  
**Feedback**: A must.

I put the lid back on my salad, threw it into my fridge, grabbing up papers and my bags and folders…Once I thought I had everything I might need, I raced out of my office, slamming the door behind me. I raced down the hall, people moved out of my way, I was probably a pretty scary sight, and I reached my destination within minutes.

"Will, I don't feel well. I'm gonna go home and hope it blows over," I told the red head, my long time best friend, but suddenly I hated her, because she could be with the man she loved and I couldn't. She could trust Oz to not hurt her again even after what he did, but I could never trust Angel.

"Okay, Buffy. Do you want me to drive you?" she asked, "You don't look so good."

"No, that's okay. I'll take it easy, I'll be fine. See you tomorrow," I told her, before leaving. I was glad I had lied to Angel, I didn't have a meeting today, I just didn't want him hanging around, because if he did then he would break down all these walls I've built around myself to protect myself, and then I'd let him back in and he'd leave me and hurt me again.

I threw my things into the back seat of my small car, sliding into the driver's seat. I jammed the key into the ignition, turned it, and threw the car into reverse. I backed out of the space and headed for the highway. I gunned the engine once I hit the entrance to the high way, zooming up to the speed limit and far past it. I knew I was being reckless, and yet I didn't care. If I died in a car crash, then my heart could stop hurting, my head could stop screaming at me for still caring about a man who had broken me as easily as it took him to take a step.

I swerved around the light traffic, my slayer reflexes coming in use as I fled the city and him. I reached home in record-breaking time, and just in time too, because it wasn't until my heavy oak door slammed behind me with so finality that I allowed the tears to come. They fell all through the process of getting things ready, heating the powder until it melted, boiling the needle, just to be extra sure. I filled the syringe, and not taking the time to prep my arm, jabbed the needle into the thick vein in the crook of my elbow, squirting the drug into my system. I tapped my fingers on the kitchen table as I waited for it to kick in, but the high was slow coming, and was lower than it ever had been in the past.

Now I understand; the high, the euphoria I get from this could never measure up to the thrill I get at the way he says my name.

Fighting the effects of the drug, I prep more and shoot that into my arm as well. And then another needle full and yet another. Dreams will not plague me tonight, I couldn't bear it. But as it kicks in, I know it's too much; even a slayer has limits, and that last dose was past my own, twice as much as I've ever used in one sitting. I feel my heart slowing just as I feel his heartbeat next to my own, beating strong. My lungs slow, and I want to laugh for the absurdity of it. I don't have a drug problem; I have a demon problem. But it's the drugs that are going to kill me.

But now I have nothing to live for.

I sink back into the kitchen chair, not caring when I lose my balance and fall to the floor in a heap. There's no fight left in me. I have drowned before, and that wasn't the most pleasant way of going, and I bet suffocation isn't either, but oh well. Your brain can survive without oxygen for a few minutes before brain damage occurs. That's the thought that passes through my mind as my breathing slows even more.

I can't figure out if it's the drugs that make me not care, or his easy dismissal of us, and everything we were. Why didn't he fight me? Why didn't he make me see that we were meant to be, forever? Unless he truly didn't love me…

* * *

He threw open the door, scanning the empty house. His soul tugged him towards the left, and he followed. He found her lying on the floor in a heap. Drug paraphernalia littered the kitchen table, and a strange odor permeated the air. In a second he was by her side, pulling on the loose sleeves of her cotton top, pulling them back so he could see the insides of her elbow. Then he checked for a pulse, knowing he wouldn't find one. 

"Call 911!" he screamed to those that followed him, slower than he was. Then he lay her flat on the floor, tilting her head back. He pressed his ear to her lips, trying desperately to feel a breath, but he felt nothing. She was still warm, he hoped he wasn't too late.

He put his lips over hers, pinching her nose shut as he did so. He exhaled into her mouth, thankful to feel the breath go in. He repeated the procedure before he put his big hands over her heart and pressed down firmly. He didn't need to find her ribs and go from there, he knew where her heart was without thinking; it was where his own was. He then checked to see if she was breathing again, but she wasn't. He gave her two more breaths, starting the process over.

He went through eight cycles of CPR, two breaths followed by 15 compressions repeated four times, before the ambulance got there. As the rescuers moved across the kitchen, he continued until they forcibly pushed him away, fitting a mask over her mouth as someone else took over the compressions.

"She overdosed," he croaked, "Heroin." They took the information and filed it away, working as quickly as they could. They loaded her on the stretcher, the rescue breathing and compressions never stopping as they wheeled her out. They wheeled her down the front walk, and loaded her into an ambulance. He was right beside her holding her hand in his own.

They stopped him as he tried to climb into the ambulance with her. They asked him a question, a question he didn't hear over the blood rushing in his ears. "S-she's my everything," he stuttered, never taking his eyes off her pale face, and that must have been enough because they allowed him to climb in beside her, her small, fragile hand once more tucked in his.

When they reached the hospital, they sped her away, leaving him standing alone in the Emergency Room. But before his anguish could overwhelm him, the sight of the pretty red head that had shown him to her house showed up; his anguish turned to anger.

He stared at her tear-streaked face; the salty tracks should have cut him to the marrow, cut his anger at the base, but it did nothing. All they did was remind him of other tracks, the ones he had seen on her arms. "Your best friend was doing a hard core drug, shooting poison into her veins, and you didn't even know?" his voice was barely contained anger.

She flinched at his words as if he had physically slapped her. She shook her head, "She never changed. She showed up for work on time, she made reports when she patrolled. There were more all-night patrols, but not out of the ordinary. She didn't seem to have much of a social life, as far as I could tell. I-I never noticed."

"Not when you hung out, or just talked?" he asked.

She was silent a moment. "We haven't really talked, truly talked since Sunnydale. Maybe even before then, before her death, maybe even before her mother's death…" she looked up at him, and her tears became ones of frustration, "You have no idea what it's like. I tried, and tried. I really did. Xander did too. We tried. But she shut me out, shut us both out. I gave up. I know that's wrong of me to do, but I couldn't keep trying! She didn't want to talk, she didn't want to hang out, she didn't want to get piss drunk. So I left her alone, hoping all she needed was some space. And then Oz came back into the picture, and yeah, I got distracted. I admit that. But Xander, through it all, kept trying. And she still hasn't let him in. I don't think she ever will."

The flame that was his anger shrunk as it used up some of its fuel. He stared at the redhead, before sighing, "Just the thought that she could do so much damage to herself without either of you knowing…back in Sunnydale, I would have said it was impossible…" he ran a hand through his hair, "This isn't exactly the normal life I left her to…"

"It's not exactly the life I had envisioned for her after she told me about the spell, either," she informed him.

They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts for hours, until a doctor came out and headed their way. He jumped up, meeting the doctor half way across the room. After introducing himself, the doctor gave them the news, "We restarted her heart and filtered her blood to help her liver out in the long run. She's conscious, but sedated, and we will be holding her overnight for observation. We highly recommend that she go to a drug rehabilitation program, but we can't force her to do anything."

"No one can force Buffy to do anything she doesn't want to," Willow muttered.

"Can we see her?" he asked.

The doctor nodded, "She may be out of it," he warned, "Close brushes with death can do that."

They were silent as he led them to her room, not wanting to mention that this wasn't her first brush with death. When they entered her room, she was facing away from the door, towards the shuttered window.

"Buffy…" Willow started, headed towards the bed.

"Get out." The voice was hard, unfeeling. Willow stopped in her tracks.

"Buffy," Willow started.

"I don't need your pity!" she yelled at her friend, "I need you to mind your own business!" When she spoke again, her voice was softer, quieter, "If you knew what I did today, if you cared at all, you would have let me die."

"But I do care!" Willow cried, taking a step forward. It was then that she turned her head and saw him. Her face crumpled as she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.

* * *

He was still here, even after seeing me at my worst, and me being such a bitch to him, he still came. 

"I-It wasn't a dream," I murmured, and he shook his head, "You…you really…?" I knew I didn't have to finish my sentence for him to understand what I was talking about. He nodded again. "Why?"

"I went to your house to get an explanation. I didn't understand why you acted the way you did…I still don't," his voice was harsh, and it cut me.

"Angel," I started, but he interrupted.

"What the hell were you thinking, Buffy? What the hell were you doing, shooting things into your veins? I thought you knew better than that?"

"And I thought you'd love me forever!" I yelled at him.

The doctor interrupted our little meeting, "You need to rest, Ms. Summers, to stay calm. You put your body through a tremendous amount of stress-"

"I know," I stopped him. I shook my fuzzy head, "I'm tired…"

"We'll let you rest," Angel said, pulling Willow out of the room. The doctor followed them. As they left, I broke down. Stay calm my ass.

The next afternoon I could go home. I spent just over twenty-four hours in the hospital. But that was still enough time. I didn't know it while in the hospital, but once I got home I learned what had been happening in my absence. Everything, everything, was gone. My box spring was gone, replaced by a mattress on the floor with two pillows and sheets and a blanket. All of the cupboard doors had been removed, my bedroom door had been removed, my clothes were living in laundry baskets…Even the bathroom door was gone.

Safe to say all my needles, my stash, my extra stash and my just in case stash were gone as well. It wasn't until I thought that did I realize just what a hold the drug had over me. But why shouldn't it? It made the dreams go away.

There was also something new, in the form of a blanket and pillow on my couch, and a suitcase behind the couch.

"What the hell is going on here?" I cried as I stared at my apartment.

"We're not going to force you to go to rehab," Angel said from behind me, he and Willow had driven me home, "But we are forcing you to clean up your act."

"Fuck you," I spat without even turning, staring at all the space uninhibited by doors. He stayed silent. I stared at everything, knowing it was futile to argue. I knew both of them well enough to know they were dn stubborn. Almost as stubborn as I was, even if they weren't as strong. "Who's my jailer?" I asked.

I felt a presence behind me, there couldn't have been an inch separating us, but he still wasn't touching me. "I am." I shivered at both his nearness and the ice in his voice. I wanted to cry and scream and throw a huge tantrum, I didn't want him knowing just how bad my life had become, and yet I wanted to throw myself into his arms and promise to be good as long as he would love me again.

Instead I kept quiet. I walked over to my sofa and threw myself backwards onto it with almost enough force to tip it over. I reached into the pouch on the side, that I had made, and grabbed the remote. I hit the power button and settled in to do some serious channel surfing. I've spent enough time with teenagers over the past few years to be able to pull off a pretty decent sulk in my old age.

I heard the murmur of voices, but I didn't look up from the television. After awhile I heard a door close- wow, so they actually left one door in my apartment alone- and then someone was standing in front of the television. Well, not someone, him. My babysitter, my jailor…

Without acknowledging his presence, I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I could hear the soft tread of socks on thick carpet. When I turned around, unbuttoning my pants as I did, he was standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me, but I have to go to the bathroom," I told him, glaring at him.

"I'm not stopping you."

I sighed, exasperated, "I would like some privacy, if you don't mind!"

"Actually, I do mind. Even though we went through this apartment top to bottom, you're resourceful. I wouldn't be surprised if we missed a stash. So no, you cannot have any privacy."

"Angel," I said, keeping my voice calm, when all I really wanted to do was scream at him, "It's that time of the month, I would really like it if you could at least turn your back for a moment."

"It's not like I haven't seen it before," he said, and I blushed crimson at the tone of voice he used, the lack of caring in his voice. But more than anything, I wanted to cry. Squashing that impulse, and feeling like I was on exhibit, I pulled down my pants and sat, going about my business as quickly as I was able. I was not going to allow him to think I was unnerved. Inside I was seething at this treatment, and I knew my face must have burned. Peeing in front of him like this was humiliating on so many levels.


	3. Chapter 3

Definition of Insanity  
Part Three  
by Karen

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.  
**Rating**: M for adult themes and drugs.  
**Genres**: Angst and eventually romance  
**Summary**: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.  
**Author's Notes:** This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.  
**Warnings**: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.  
**Feedback**: A must.

After I was through, I went back to the television. I sat there, unmoving besides a twitch of my fingers to change the channel, until an enticing aroma came to my nose. I tried to ignore it, but my stomach gave me away, growling loud enough to be heard over the talk show I was watching.

Grumbling, I turned off the TV and stood, following my nose into the kitchen. Angel had his back to me, stirring something on the stove. I took a deep breath through my nose, taking in the delicious smells, and sat at the kitchen table.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I decided on stir fry," he told me, turning to him. "I also made rice with egg and shrimp in it, and I found some egg rolls in the freezer that I'm heating up. I figured everyone likes Chinese food, right?" he looked at me, the sweat on his forehead glistening in the overhead lighting. I wanted to tell him I hated Chinese food, just to get back at him for what happened in the bathroom, but I couldn't.

"That's fine," I told him, noncommittally.

"Good. It'll be ready in a few, but if you want to set the table or something?"

"You're inviting me to set my own table?" I asked.

He turned, looking at me, "I'm sorry. I know that this is awkward, and everything. I remember you not being into cooking much, so I just figured…" he sighed, "I just thought that maybe if you were busy, maybe we could move past everything between us, all the awkward and the anger and hate, and fall into a routine."

I looked at him a moment, before sighing and shaking my head, "Angel, you're human, and we're playing house. Ten years ago, this would have been my dream come true. So I'm sorry if I'm a bit weirded out by you watching me go to the bathroom, and cooking Chinese in my kitchen!"

He moved to crouch in front of me, leaving no escape, "I know we agreed that it was over between us, but seeing you lying there…" he trailed off, looking away, and I couldn't help but wonder what I would see in his eyes if I forced him to look at me, pain, love, pity, or disgust. "You did so much for me, whether you realize it or not. And now, you need me, even if you won't admit it, and I can't turn my back on you. Some part of me, the part that the memory of your smile kept going through the darkest times, that part still loves the sixteen year old that knocked me on my ass when we first met. I know you're not that girl anymore, but if you could ask her, I know this is not how she would have wanted to turn out." By the time he was through, he was looking at me again, and I stared into his eyes, but I couldn't decipher anything from their depths. They were guarded.

What did he mean, some part of him? Did that mean that as a whole, he no longer loved me? Was my smile really the only thing to get him through some days, just as the feel of his arms around me was sometimes the only thing that prevented me from going insane?

Before I could ask, he had averted his gaze, pushing himself to his feet. He moved back to the stove and his back was to me once more. Though I was reeling from his revelation, I pushed myself to my feet as well, sliding by him to get to the cupboard I kept my dishes in.

"Generally, I just use paper," I told him in a false cheerful tone, "Much easier clean up when there's just one. But a real meal deserves real plates. I'll even clean up, since you cooked."

"That's awfully nice of you," he said with a smile, the tense moment forgotten.

After dinner I cleaned up, and though I desperately wanted to take a shower-I just felt unclean- I didn't want an encore, so I settled for going to bed early. I was exhausted, and my body felt heavy. But at the same time, even though I knew I needed sleep, I didn't want to sleep, knowing that if I did, the dreams would come. After mulling over my choices, I forewent sleep, and settled on the opposite end of the couch from Angel. He looked as if he didn't really know what he was watching, and with his permission, I flipped through the channels until I found a movie. It was old, filmed in the 90's, and while I had seen it a dozen or more times, he had never even heard of it. It was a chick flick, and I warned him, but he wanted to watch it anyway.

I had forgotten how much the plot, twisted slightly, matched our own twisted love story. The movie was Ever After, a version of Cinderella where Drew Berrymore plays Danielle De Barbaraque. Though I guess Beauty and the Beast is the fairytale our story is the most like. It's a nice movie, anyway, one that you can get lost in.

After the movie, I decided I put off trying to sleep long enough, even though I was no longer tired. I quickly changed for bed, keeping my back turned to the empty doorway as I changed. Then I climbed into bed, but my back and muscles were aching, so I decided to get up and do some stretches before bed. Usually I patrolled so I was limber when I went to bed, but I didn't think Angel would let me patrol. The stretches only helped a little, but I could hear Angel getting ready for bed in my living room, so I climbed under the covers, turning off my bedside lamp as I lay down.

I tossed and turned for awhile, how long I'm not certain, but I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was the feel of his arms around me, his hands on me, running the length of my naked flesh, his feather light kisses running the length of my neck and chest.

But before it got really good, just as I felt myself adjust to his length, he tore out of me so fast it hurt; I cried out in pain both physical and emotional. Without saying anything he stalked out of the room, slamming the doors behind him. As my body shook, the tears came, as I cried out for him.

But then I was being cradled; I must have fought against the arms around me because when I finally opened my eyes and looked at him he had scratch marks on his face. Tears poured down my face as I sobbed. His hand at the back of my neck pressed my face into his shoulder and I took the comfort he was offering.

My body didn't stop shaking when the tears did. Even though his arms were warm around my thin frame, I shook with cold. My skin prickled at the thin hairs on my skin rose to try and trap warm air close to my skin. His hands never stopped rubbing my back as he whispered in my ear, "Symptoms of withdrawal," he told me, his voice soothing. Carefully, he scooted me over, sliding under my comforter as he laid me down, still wrapped in his arms. He held me close to his chest as I shook, and he didn't flinch as the muscle in my thigh contracted and kicked my foot out.

Even though the symptoms of withdrawal made me want to cry- my bones hurt!- I somehow knew that the reason for my crying previously would not plague me again that night. Even as I lay there, waiting for my body to become my own again, the long nights of sleeplessness caught up with me. I yawned, before my eyes slid closed on their own and I was asleep.

I woke the next morning, still wrapped in his arms. I realized that for the first time in years, I was rested. Though I didn't want to, I gently disentangled myself from his grasp- he was the same sound sleeper, alive or dead- and decided I would take the chance to take a shower without him watching me. A part of me wanted to check and see which stashes he might have missed- I didn't think he would want to hold me every night, and eventually he was going to have to leave, and then where would I be?

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around me before turning towards the door. Just as I thought, he stood there. I was glad for the thick towel covering me from chest to mid thigh, though I wish I had more on.

He looked at me a moment and I had to force myself to meet his gaze, to not stare at something else because it made me more comfortable. Finally, he averted his gaze, "I was wondering what you wanted for breakfast," he said.

"I'm not hungry," I said softly.

"What do you want?" he asked again.

I bit my lip to hide a smile, he was still protective of me, "Scrambled eggs," I said at last. He nodded and left. I stared after him a moment, before I went into my room to get dressed.

Five minutes later I entered the kitchen; his back was to me, his focus on the pan. "Why'd you leave me by myself?" I asked, "Not that I'm complaining." I sat at the table, folding my hands in my lap, unsure of what else to do with them.

He bowed his head, "I feel really bad about that incident in the bathroom yesterday," he said quietly. "I was just so mad and scared that you could do something like that to yourself…" he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," I found myself saying, though I didn't know where the words were coming from, "But if you knew why…" I trailed off shaking my head.

"But I want to. I want to understand why you could defile yourself like that…"

"It's not like I haven't done it before…" I said harshly, "I'm sure you've heard about my little affair with Spike. How was that any different than this?"

He turned red, "That wasn't-"

I interrupted him, "Wasn't what? Degrading? Painful? Physically and emotionally draining? Out of character?" I shook my head, "But what was is? Numbing. Blessfully numbing. It stopped the pain, it stopped the dreams, it stopped the flood of images that shouldn't be in my head!" I cried.

He was in front of me in an instant, "What dreams? What images? Did you have a nightmare last night? Is that what you're talking about?" he asked softly, pulling my hands away from my face, I'm not quite sure how they got there.

I stared at him, shaking my head. I couldn't tell him. If I told him, then he'd know that I still loved him, and he'd feel guilty because he no longer loved me. Maybe he would even stay with me, because he didn't want to see me hurt, but it would all be a lie, because he no longer loved me.

I was shaking again, and I really, really wanted to shoot up. But I couldn't, so I did the next best thing, I pushed away the hovering tears, and asked about the eggs. He rushed to the stove, obviously having forgotten them, and it gave me enough time to collect myself. The shaking was bothering me, though.

I had gotten myself under control by the time he slid a plate of food in front of me, a plate of food I had no interest in eating. But one look at his face, and the expression he wore, and I took a bite. It was this odd mix of pride and uncertainty, smugness and shyness. He seemed to be confident in his cooking skills, but as I ate, he kept hovering, asking if I wanted anything, or if they were all right. Finally I told him they were perfect, and they were close, just so he would eat his own food and leave me to pick at mine.

After he was through, and I had forced about half of the scrambled egg into myself, I pushed my plate away, "So, what's the plan for today? I'm guessing you're not going to let me go to work."

"You could if you would always be in my sight," he said.

"Some of the meetings I have with the slayers are confidential," I told him.

"Willow gave you the next two weeks off. I told her that withdrawal usually only lasts for a week, but she wouldn't listen." I looked at him, my gaze questioning, and he sighed, "We had some issues with drugs awhile back, demons using them to control people…I did my own research for once, when we were trying to figure out which drug they were using. It wasn't heroin, but a mystical drug called Dragon's Breath, but I did enough research to know…" he picked up his own plate but left mine in front of me, heading towards the trashcan to throw away the paper plate.

When he turned back to me, he was smiling, "I was thinking we could do touristy things today. Willow told me that when you moved here, you kind of jumped right in with both feet, not really giving yourself time to do any sight seeing."

"I've done plenty of sightseeing!" I cried, "I usually patrol every single night!"

"But that's at night," he said softly, "Finish your egg, and we'll go," he told me, sitting back down across from me to finish his cup of coffee.

"I'm done, I'm not really hungry."

"Eat," he ordered me. I sighed and picked up my fork.

After my slave driver let me leave the table, I decided to change into a sundress. As I passed the bathroom after I had changed, I noticed Angel's back out of the corner of my eye. I had kind of been lost in my thoughts-thinking about work and who was doing my job, and how would the girls manage without me-, so when I turned to him, sound came back to me. It was then that I realized that we were in the same boat. He had sacrificed his own privacy to make sure I didn't have any. For some reason, that made me feel better about the whole thing. I slipped down the hall and sat on the couch, waiting for him to be ready, giving him some of the privacy he gave up.


	4. Chapter 4

Definition of Insanity  
Part Four  
by Karen

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.  
**Rating**: M for adult themes and drugs.  
**Genres**: Angst and eventually romance  
**Summary**: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.  
**Author's Notes:** This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.  
**Warnings**: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.  
**Feedback**: A must.

We drove downtown, parked the car on some side street, and set off on foot. I didn't have a destination in mind, but he seemed to. We ended up in a wide-open area, with carts and street vendors everywhere.

We spent the day going through the outdoor stalls and the shops that lined the area. I didn't realize that Angel was so into shopping. He kept dragging me from stall to stall to check out things that caught his eye. He insisted on buying almost a dozen things for me, but every time I tried to talk to him about buying something for him, he pulled me in the opposite direction to look at something else. He also stuffed me full of different fatty foods, pretzels and elephant ears and French fries, and so much else. So much that I felt like I was going to be sick after my strict diet of salad or nothing. But just when I thought I couldn't eat any more, he convinced me that I was hungry, and sat us down outside a pizza parlor.

By mid-afternoon, I was not only stuffed, but happy for the first time since I could remember since moving to the city. We had been bantering back and forth all day, and a couple times he had to put his hands on me, either to get me out of someone else's way, or to change direction; no matter his excuse, I shivered at each contact. I wish he didn't affect me so, but I can't help it.

And the best part, after the last time, when I was going to veer off to check out a shirt I thought he would look hot in, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me back beside him. But he didn't let me go. He left his arm draped around the small of my back, his hand snaked around the thin hip. When he touched me, he didn't touch me like I was diseased, or sick, he touched me like he always did, like he was in love with me.

As the sun set, we were ambling through a small side street, trying to find the car, when a figure melted from the shadows just ahead of us.

"Buffy," the demon said conversationally, "Where have you been? You were supposed to come pick up your…payment last night."

I had totally forgotten about the meeting, "I-I don't want it, Morty. Not now, not ever. And I'm not doing any more jobs for you, I'm clean." I told him, Angel silently giving me the courage just by his arm around my waist and his coat draped over my thin shoulders.

"What's this nonsense? Without me, you'd still be the vamp-whipped girl. I changed that, didn't I? Me and my drug, we helped you," he said. I guess he didn't recognize Angel, not yet anyway.

"I'm through," I repeated.

"You can't do this to me, Slayer, you're my best customer."

Before he could threaten me- I can take care of myself, by the way- Angel let go of me, stepping into light cast by one of the lamps nearby, "She said she was through, Morty. You'd best believe her and get out of here before she decides to sick the council on you," he said.

Morty's expression turned from one of anger to one of fear. "An-Angelus," he stuttered, "I didn't know you were around…So sorry…" he turned tail and ran. I couldn't help but smile; I didn't know that even now, after so long, Angelus was still a thing to be feared.

We stood there a moment, staring after him. Finally, he moved back to me, put his arm back around my waist, and led me towards where he thought the car was. But the banter was gone, the happiness was gone. And his arm was stiffer around me, almost like he did it just because he thought I wanted him to. I wanted to shoot up so bad.

When we finally reached the car, my hands were shaking, and my muscles were aching, even though we hadn't done anything that had physically exerted me. I tucked myself into the passenger side as he climbed into the driver's seat. I knew it was bad if I was letting him drive-I drove here. I had told myself it was because I knew the layout better, but it was because of my control freakiness, and we both knew it.

When we reached the house, I headed straight for my bed, where I curled up in a quivering ball. I couldn't keep lying to myself. My body was addicted to the drug, the symptoms weren't new to me, just compounded. In the past, I had muscle twitches if I went too long without shooting up, or muscle aches I thought were just because of a bad fight the night before. No, my body was addicted.

My mind was too, for a completely different reason. Because here, in my bed, alone, the images streamed through my mind, confusing me, making me crazy as I tried to focus on just one image. Yet, I didn't need to. I knew all the images by heart, they were from my life with Angel, or dreams since he left me. And now images of today were added to the mix, a touch, a smile, the sight of him in the sunlight, his thick hair curling slightly from the humidity. All moments that made my heart flop; now I wished for the prick of a needle to make them all go away.

Angel came in a bit later with a plate of food. He found me curled in the fetal position, rocking myself slightly. He set the plate on the bedside table, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on my side. I flinched.

"You need to eat something," he said quietly.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I was shivering again.

"Buffy, please. You need to keep your health up. I know this hurts, but I need you to eat for me."

"How do you know?" I asked, my voice quivering. "How do you know what it's like?"

He sighed, "Back at the turn of the century, 17th century," he amended, knowing I needed clarification, "We spent some time in China. I-I found opium patrons easy picking…Easiest when they're high, they just lay there, babbling incoherently. And the smell is easy to track…I spent a lot of time in opium dens…" he wasn't looking at me, and I knew he wasn't proud of what he had done, and that gave me heart. Even when he had been forgiven, he still felt bad, "We toured China for a few months, but then we decided to head back to Europe, hoping the mobs had died down in the five months we were gone. On the ship back, I went through withdrawal, similar to what you're going through. It wasn't nearly as bad, and it only lasted a few hours, but I stayed away from drug addicts for a few years after that."

He looked down at me, smoothing some hair off my cheek; I shivered at the touch, knowing it would go into the streaming video that was my life without drugs, "You got to keep going on. Please, eat, for me."

I looked up at him, saw the caring in his eyes, and struggled to sit up. Everything hurt. I was addicted, addicted bad. He helped me into a sitting position before he placed the plate in my lap. I took the fork, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't cut the steak he had cooked or make the potatoes stay on my fork long enough to make it to my mouth. I made a small noise in my throat in frustration, so close to tears it scared me.

Gently he took the fork and knife from me, cut up the meat into smaller bites, and started feeding me as if I were a baby. I couldn't keep the tears in then, and they streamed down my face as he put bite after bite into my mouth. Once the plate was empty, he took it from my lap and put it back on the bedside table, before taking me into his arms, just as he had the night before. He didn't have to ask what was wrong. "I know," he murmured, "I know." Yet again he lay me down in my bed and allowed me to cry.

I woke the next morning with his arms still around me. I inhaled the sweet scent of him, before I slowly crawled out of his embrace. I didn't want to, I wanted to stay there forever, safe and warm in his arms, where his nearness made all but the worst symptoms of withdrawal seem irrelevant.

I was in the shower when I heard his voice, "Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" he asked.

Behind the semi sheer shower curtain, I wrapped my arms around my chest, biting my lip hard. For a fleeting second I didn't want him to just use the bathroom, but I wanted him to come join me in the shower. Generally, I'm pretty dense, but it didn't take a blind man to see I was still in love with him.

"S-Sure!" I called, hoping he didn't catch my stutter, hoping the nervousness I felt couldn't be heard in my voice. I stood there self-consciously as he went to the bathroom, I could see his wide shoulders through the curtain. I was waiting until he was done before I moved, not wanting to bring attention to myself, but instead of leaving, he turned to the sink, grabbing his can of shaving cream. I saw him shake it and felt myself shiver.

Slowly I moved from behind the opaque outer curtain and back into the spray of the shower. I could see his back was to me, so slowly, I began to finish my washing, though more than anything I wanted his hands to be the ones running down my body. I was so self-conscious, I had never really noticed how much my body had changed, how different I was, how…unfeminine.

After that I was done with my shower real fast. I didn't want to give Angel the chance to join me, in the off chance that he still felt anything at all; I didn't want him to see what I had become. The only problem-he was still in the bathroom. After a moment of thought, I turned off the water, and reached out to quickly grab the closest towel. I retreated back into the shower, wrapping it firmly around myself, before I pulled back the shower curtain.

As I walked away I felt his eyes on me, and I shuddered, if he knew what I had become, he'd loath me.

The withdrawal was the worst it had ever been that day. We stayed around the house, cleaning and stuff. I wore a huge oversized sweatshirt, and even though it was a hot day, I kept it on. The thing came down to my knees, and I thought it would make me happier, but it just made me look even more sexless. I had lost my femininity; I had lost myself.

I sunk into depression, but if Angel noticed, he didn't give any indication. He kept shoveling food into me by the ton- or at least it seemed that way after my months of eating just one meal a day. He told me that generally symptoms of withdrawal went away after seven days. On day four, he cajoled me into going for a run, teasing that all the rich food would make me fat if I wasn't careful. But if that gave me some curves again, if it made me look like a woman, I would do it, because maybe he'd love me again.

That night we watched a movie, and I fell asleep on the couch, using Angel's shoulder as a pillow. The next morning, I woke up lying down, in his arms, and without thinking I wiggled slightly to get more comfortable and fell off the edge of the couch. The day kinda followed that. The symptoms weren't as bad as they had been the day before, but my muscles still ached and my hands were shaky. Worse, we were running out of things to do during the day, and there really wasn't much on TV. Finally, Angel took me to the nearest library, of all places, and I got a library card, and we got out some movies, and Angel got out some of those really old books he likes.

We spent the next few days watching movies and reading out loud. I decided to pick up a few books by an author I had heard a lot about but had never had time to read. God, were the books hilarious! I kept interrupting Angel's reading to read him a section. One of the evenings, when the cravings were incredibly awful, Angel curled up with me on my bed and read aloud to me. I'm not totally sure what he read was in English, but it sounded pretty damn nice to me.

By day six, my cravings were pretty much gone, and I wasn't having muscle spasms so much, and when I did, they weren't all that bad. It was then that I was faced with another problem. Now that the drug was out of my system- for good, I hoped, because I could not go through this again- Angel would be leaving soon, and his presence was worse than the drugs. It was infused in my bones, and when he left, I would be going through a totally different type of withdrawal. This one, I thought, was probably going to leave me babbling incoherently in the nearest padded room, or maybe just a corner would suffice. Living with him for the past week, though it started out rough, had shown me a way to get to heaven again, and I knew when he left, I would wake up in hell.

So I did the only thing I could do. I pushed him away.

Usually, we either fell asleep on the couch after watching a movie, or fell asleep in my bed after reading out loud. It's funny how it only took us a week to fall into a routine. He has the nicest voice, and it just lulls me, until the world is perfect, because all there is is him. On the sixth day after my fatal high, we watched a movie, but I forced myself to stay awake, and when it was over, I left him sleeping on the couch, slipping into my own room. The dreams I had that night weren't the pleasant ones I had been having in his arms, but when I woke up crying, I put my pillow over my head so he wouldn't hear me. I didn't fall asleep after that, afraid I might call out to him, because I knew he would come.

I made sure to get up long before he would, and I showered and started breakfast. I was even cooking, and I had to be self-sufficient. My heart had already started to hurt, even though he had yet to leave.

That day he put my doors back on, he wouldn't let me help despite I was ten times stronger than he was now. He looked so sexy, shirtless, with sweat trickling down his chest and back. His skin was warm, healthy, no longer cold and pale, and I wanted him all the more. While he was being all muscley, masculine, I cleaned up, putting the books we had been reading and the movies we had been watching back in their place. But I left out the book we had started two nights before, a collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's short stories.

"You can stay as long as you want," I told him during dinner, "At least to finish Doyle's collection. I don't think I'd have the chance to finish if you didn't force me," I softened it with a smile. I needed him to stay longer. Ripping himself out of my life now would put me back where I started before the drugs. Even if I slowly weaned myself from him, it still might. I looked at him expectantly, hoping against hope he'd stay a little longer.

He seemed to mull it over for a few seconds, before he nodded, "Okay." Maybe he understood what his leaving would do to me, maybe not.

"I have to go back to work tomorrow," I told him, "I know Will gave me another week, but…You can come with, or you could stay here, whatever you prefer."

"I'd like to see more of the Council," he told me. He didn't argue about me going back to work or anything, and that surprised me.

I nodded silently, "I won't be able to stay with you all day," I warned, "I have tons of meetings to make up, plus all of this week's. I'm in charge of the training and patrolling of all the slayers in the city. Plus I do phone or email correspondence with all of the slayers around the world." He looked impressed, and I smiled.

The next day went smoothly, if a bit hectic. Fifteen minutes after getting there, Angel had disappeared. Work was work, and there was nothing new about it. The week's vacation I took didn't harm me in any way, if anything, it helped. For once I had something to talk about with some of the slayers that were either more book inclined or movie inclined. I was even able to recommend something to some of them. It felt really good.

Instead of eating at my desk, I ate in the cafeteria. The food wasn't as bad as I expected, and it was good seeing Willow and Xander again, it was good spending time with them, without having to be doing research or testing slayers or whatnot. At first it was a bit awkward, but then we fell into our old routine, and things were nice. I had really missed talking to them, making them laugh and smile.

As I was getting up to go, Xander stopped me with a hand on my arm, "There's a new club that opened downtown. What do you think?" he asked.

"Uh, I think I could show up for a couple hours," I said, knowing it wasn't the exact answer he was looking for, but it still made his face light up, "I haven't done any patrolling for the past week, so I need to get back in the swing of things," I said, giving him a playful smile, "Uh, is it okay if I bring Angel? We're not together," I hastened to add, "but he's staying at my place until he can find somewhere else," I told them.

"Oz and I will be there after dinner, around eight," Willow said, barely containing a smile.

"I was thinking of bringing someone," Xander said slowly, "I'd really like to know your guys' opinion of her."

I sat back down, feeling like we were in high school, "That's great Xander! I'm sure we'll like her," I told him, putting a hand on his lower arm supportively. It shocked me that even after so long, I still knew Xander enough to know he was uncomfortable. "So, we'll meet you there around eight?" I asked, standing again.

"Yeah," my friends said as one.


	5. Chapter 5

Definition of Insanity  
Part Five  
by Karen

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and Fox.  
**Rating**: M for adult themes and drugs.  
**Genres**: Angst and eventually romance  
**Summary**: Buffy used to have a needle problem- she couldn't stand them. Now she has a different sort of needle problem, one that could kill her if she's not careful. But she has been careful, at least she was until someone from her past showed up and shook her hold on reality.  
**Author's Notes:** This story came about after I went to the doctors and had to have blood drawn.  
**Warnings**: Contains situations not suitable for children. Reader disgression is advised.  
**Feedback**: A must.

I told Angel about going to the club as we drove back to my place, I hadn't been able to find him before then. It had taken me a half hour to find him in one of the classrooms, having a discussion with some of the slayers. It warmed my heart to see him like that. He really had a way with the girls. As I had watched from the window, he had smiled at something one of the girls said, and I felt a sudden shot of jealousy flow through my veins. My reasonable half had told me I had no reason to be jealous, he wasn't mine anymore, but my heart wouldn't listen.

I hadn't been to a club in a long time, and I hadn't been to this particular club, so I really had no idea what to wear. I told myself I was going to reconnect with my friends, to show them I was okay, and to get back into slaying. But some part of me also wanted Angel looking at me like he used to. It was that part of me that chose my outfit. I knew that he wouldn't be the only one looking, and though I felt a bit bad about that, that same part of me was snide, wanting him to feel the jealousy I felt.

I put on one of my long coats with large pockets full of stakes and smaller knives and Holy Water while Angel was still changing in the bathroom. For once I was ready before he was. When he did finally come out, he looked uncomfortable in the colors he wore. I thought he looked so incredibly sexy in colors, and it hit me then that I had never seen him in anything but black and white. The khaki pants went well with the light blue cotton shirt, and the light color of the outfit went will with his healthy tan skin.

"Ready?" he asked. I just nodded, biting my lip. Maybe inviting him along was not the way to slowly wean myself from him… Maybe instead I should have spent the night without him, just as I had spent the day. But it hadn't felt like I had spent the day separate from him, maybe because he was in the building. It had felt so natural to find him talking with those girls, so natural to confide in him about my day on the ride home.

We drove in silence, me going over the directions Willow had given me before I had left for the day. It was Friday night, so there was a line outside when we got there, but I told them we were here from the Watcher's Council, and they let us in. Willow had told me earlier that the owner had put us on the guest list, hoping we might keep his club undead free. When we got to the corner table where Willow, Oz and a woman I didn't know sat, I pulled off my coat, putting it over the back of my chair. I felt eyes on me, and turned to see Angel staring at me, his eyes seemed darker than they usually were, deeper, smokier…when he caught me looking, he quickly turned away, peeling off his own jacket. I hid my smile, turning to the new girl, "Hi, I'm Buffy Summers," I told her, offering my hand.

She stood, taking my hand, "Stephanie Daisuke. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine. Oh, this is Angel," I said, trying to think up a way of explaining Angel, but I saw I didn't have to, her attention was on him for a second, and then it moved to someone else. I turned and saw that she was staring at Xander, who was coming through the crowd, carrying two drinks.

"Buffy!" he cried when he saw me, "You look fantastic," he gave one of the drink to Stephanie, put the other on the table beside her, and hugged me. "Trying to make Angel jealous, are we?" he asked in my ear, before he let me go and sat next to Stephanie. Willow and Oz also hugged me, Willow also hugged Angel, and Oz shook Angel's hand. Xander was the last to greet Angel, I think he just did it to show there were no hard feelings between them.

The night passed quickly, full of dancing and a bit of drinking. I didn't drink anything stronger than soda, knowing how I usually took to alcohol and other stimulants. I didn't want to get off one and find myself addicted to another. It wasn't very far in the evening when I found out Angel could not dance, so he stayed at the table with Oz and Xander as us girls danced, drawing attention to ourselves. Not that I needed any help in my black mini skirt and shiny red halter top that left my back exposed. Only a strap behind my neck and two across my back kept me from being incredibly embarrassed. It felt good, letting loose and having fun. I hadn't truly had fun in years, and it felt weird at first, but I soon warmed to the idea. Of course, I don't think I would have been having nearly so much fun if Angel hadn't been watching. Stephanie was a good dancer, and I liked her immediately. She made Xander so happy, and it was good to see Xander happy. For once, we were all pretty much happy. Of course, unbeknownst to me, I was going to be a whole lot happier in about five hours.

Besides drinking and dancing, we did the small talk thing, and when a slow song was played, instead of looking like idiots sitting at the table alone while the others danced, Angel and I danced. We didn't do the close dancing, body to body- I'm not sure who was making us keep our distance- but he held me in his arms, and it was bliss. He was human, and I was human, and we were just a normal not-couple out with friends.

At about two thirty we headed home, once again in silence. I said goodnight and headed to my room, pushing the door mostly closed. I had kinda gotten used to not having a door, and it was Angel. What he had said a week ago was true, he had seen it all, not in a long time, but he had.

I was slipping out of my shoes when I felt his presence. I started to turn, but wasn't fast enough. His hands on my face, he backed me up until I fell onto my bed. He seemed to float down on top of me, keeping all but the tiniest bit of his body weight off of me, not that I couldn't have taken it all...

"Tell me you don't want me," he growled, deep in his throat. I could feel his erection pushing against my stomach and felt a rush of warmth shoot from my stomach down into the most private of regions.

I had to lie. That was the only way out of this, the best way. If I lied, if I told him I didn't want him like he so obviously wanted me, then he would go, I could see it in his eyes. But just the thought of him leaving, of him being gone forever, never to be in my life again, it cut me to shreds. I should have known I couldn't lose him again. Hadn't my dreams been enough?

He looked down at me, his eyes so dark with want they were black. But it was as if there was a curtain in his eyes, I know this sounds weird, but go figure, and just behind that curtain was something else, but I couldn't figure out what.

I knew I had a decision to make; tell him I loved him-he didn't…he didn't ask me if I loved him, he asked me if I wanted him. Wanting and loving are so very different. He probably hasn't had sex since he became human, so he figured he'd test everything out on me!

Now I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath, hoping he didn't see the tears fighting to gain access to open air, "I-I…" I started, but the words wouldn't come. I don't, how hard is that to say. Three words, well, two and a contraction. But I couldn't get them out. I took another deep breath to start again, "I- I…can't," I said at last. I couldn't lie to Angel, I just couldn't.

His lips descended on mine, and while earlier, on the dance floor, I thought I was feeling blissful…just his lips on mine brought me tantalizingly close to a release I hadn't had in years. Not since Sunnydale, not like this, anyway, not with someone who loves you.

Somehow I knew Angel was trying to take it slow as he memorized every inch of my mouth with his tongue. I had a delicious thought that I wished he would be so thorough in other areas and another rush of warmth headed south.

I ran my hands down across his neck where they had been tangled in his hair, and quickly undid the first button I came in contact with. I needed him, and I needed him now.

After that, the clothes disappeared, not that mine were really any barrier. A small part of myself must have wished this outcome as I dressed myself that night.

Just before I fell over the edge, I looked into his eyes, and the curtain was gone. What I saw there shocked me and pushed me over the edge. With one more thrust, he followed.

"I love you," he murmured in my ear as we rode out our bliss.

"I know. I love you too," I knew we still had a lot of things to go over, a lot yet to talk about, but I knew without a doubt, this was right where I was supposed to be.

As we lay there in the silent aftermath, his head drooped over my shoulder, his breath tickling my neck, I had to tell him something. "Angel," I murmured.

"Yeah?" he asked, lifting his head to look me in the eye.

"You're my anti-drug," I murmured.

He smiled down at me, before leaning down and placing open-mouthed kisses on my neck that made me squirm, "Funny, you are my drug."

* * *

It's been four months since my fatal overdose. And since then, I've slowly been rebuilding my life. I spend much more time with my friends, and I eat healthier. I even have some of my curvier curves back. And I've been heroin free for four months now. I no longer have a needle problem, but I'll always have a demon problem, and I kind of still have a drug problem, only this one is totally different, and I get it in a much different way. 

As I sit here, listening to my best friends making speeches, I can't help but look over at the guy sitting next to me. He's gorgeous, and I guess you could call him my supplier. Oh, good news about Morty, ran in to him about two months back, and he won't be making any more drug deals. But back to the happy ending.

Willow finishes her speech and sits down. It was really a touching thing, all about soul mates, and how even she knew I had found mine at sixteen. Funny now that at twenty eight, we're finally back on track. As everyone claps, I feel a rush of adrenalin shoot through my veins, and I definitely think that this natural drug thing is the way to go.

I look over once again, and he's looking at me. I smile, biting my lower lip, trying to contain my happiness. I can't believe we're finally here, I mean, who'd have thunk it?

And I guess I've finally admitted to myself that I'm just a little bit crazy, because I've done the unthinkable. For the final time, I've done the same thing, expecting different results. But the best part is, this time I know the outcome will be different.

He leans over and kisses me, and I taste wine on his lips. Or maybe that's my wine I'm tasting. I'm not really sure. Yeah, yeah, I'm a bit drunk, and I know I said I'm not really a big drinker, but I've found the best drug of all while I'm in his arms, and it mixes very well with liquor, so I figure a little alcohol can't hurt. Besides, it's my wedding day, and I'm getting lucky tonight.

END


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